by Katie Ford
CHAPTER FOUR
Ellie
Miles hauled me through what seemed like endless hallways, all of them dark, shrouded with drapes, before passing through a series of ornately furnished rooms. Where were we? Some kind of underground fortress? An underground clubhouse where illicit auctions took place? Unfortunately, there was no one in any of the rooms so I couldn’t scream and save myself, although maybe everyone here was in on the scheme and it would have been pointless.
Finally, we entered a small antechamber.
“Here,” grunted Miles, thrusting a piece of cloth at me. “Put it on.”
I took it with trembling fingers, holding the cloth up. Holy shit, it was a midnight blue robe, just like the one I’d seen the redhead wear. It was full-length with long sleeves, the material shimmery, mysterious and feminine despite its shapelessness. But I shook my head stubbornly.
“No,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’m not wearing this.”
My resistance was steadfast because I couldn’t go down without a fight, I had to push back at my captor, do something to make sure I got out. But unfortunately, Miles was a sick bastard and wasn’t taking no for an answer when there was so much money on the table.
“Put it on her,” he ground out coldly and immediately hands were on me, seizing the cloth from my grasp, pinning my arms backwards so that I had no choice.
“No, stop!” I shrieked. “Stop, stop!” Hopefully someone could hear me, anyone. But no such luck. My hands were wrestled in back of me, the cape thrown over my body and the hood pulled over my head so I was shrouded in midnight blue, an enchantress in a gown, ready to take the stage.
But it did nothing to quell the rebellion I felt inside. Despite the horrific circumstances, I was still steaming, gritting my teeth and the invisible hands had to hold me tight.
“Good,” snarled Miles. “No marks on her, she’s going up for auction.”
I gasped, realizing that it wasn’t some sense of decency that kept them from hitting me. It was that I was up for sale, and any imperfections on my skin would detract from my price. It was money, only money, that was keeping these goons off me.
But suddenly a light came on above the entryway and I was hustled forward.
“You better cooperate,” hissed Miles, getting in my face, his expression a twisted mask of anger and greed. “Or you’ll find out what happens when there are no buyers to protect you.”
I backed away quickly, but not before I managed to spit fully in his face, a glob of saliva trickling off his chin.
“Don’t think I’m gonna cooperate,” I hissed, just as angry. “I don’t belong to you!”
The disgusting man just wiped the spittle away with a sodden handkerchief.
“Get her out of my sight,” he ground out, and with that, I was hauled into the room I’d seen on-screen.
Now that I was in the chamber itself, I could see that it was much more than a dais with a spotlight. There were windows all around the dais, about twelve of them, and they were one-way windows that could see me, but where I couldn’t see inside. Above each window was a light. All of the lights were off for the moment, but a shivery sensation crept over my body. Oh god, the bidders had to be in there, sizing up the goods, waiting patiently as I was led to the center.
And once I was positioned on the dais, the female voice chimed melodically.
“Welcome back to the auction,” she said, her tone still moderate and pleasant, like this was completely normal. “Here before us we have Article Twenty-One, an eighteen year-old girl. Handlers, please remove her robe.”
And with a swish, the midnight blue cloak was pulled from my body, the velvet caressing my shoulders as it left, leaving me chill on the dais. I didn’t know where to look, wasn’t sure how to stand, how to do anything. All I knew was that there were unknown men looking at me, sizing me up for purchase, and it made shivers run through my arms and legs. I crossed my arms over my chest instinctively, as if trying to protect myself, but immediately the voice came on again.
“Please let the viewers see all of Article Twenty-One,” the woman chimed as the men pulled my arms down to my sides. “Article Twenty-One is tonight’s highlight, a unique lot with something rare, that may only be offered once. ‘The Girl in Gold,’ as we’re calling her, is a virgin. Yes, bidders,” she continued. “The Girl in Gold has never been touched, never been handled intimately by a man, and is ready for your pleasure.”
I gasped. Oh my god, I was tonight’s “special”? And I was special because I was a virgin? Suddenly I realized how Rachel had betrayed me. It wasn’t anything purposeful, she must have been gossiping and confided that I was a stick in the mud because I was a virgin. Unfortunately, Miles and his goons had immediately picked up on it and realized they could get a higher price, thus the kidnapping. Oh my god.
And what was this “Girl in Gold” stuff? How had they come up with this name? Suddenly, I realized it was my dress. The beautiful golden slip was gorgeous under the spotlights, shimmering sensuously, caressing my curves just so, the hem fluttering despite the lack of a breeze in the closed chamber. And I realized what I must have looked like – creamy, sensuous, young and nubile, glimmering before the men’s eyes, waiting for a taker.
But before the bidding began, the woman’s voice came on once again.
“As always, we will be showing off the goods. Handlers,” came the voice. “Please help Article Twenty-One out of her clothing.”
And the two black-clad men came towards me again, their faces hidden by masks, looking like two burglars. But I didn’t want them to touch me. As degrading as this was, I wanted to be my own woman as much as I could, fierce and independent. So I held out a hand and ground out, “I’ll do it myself.”
Both men were still for a moment, tentative, unsure. But before they could swarm, I reached behind my neck and undid the string tie, letting the golden straps slither off my chest. And because it was nothing more than a slip, immediately the top began to drop off, to fall to my feet. But I wanted control. I was going to own this in whatever small way possible, so with shivering, trembling hands, I slowly lowered the cups of the dress until both my girls were bared.
And I cursed myself then. Oh god, once upon a time I’d been thin as a pencil, looking like a boy, no one would ever be aroused. But no more. Now my breasts were creamy, pendulous, huge mountains of white topped by pink areola, the nipples stiff in the cold chamber, swaying and jiggling slightly with my movements.
And immediately several lights flashed on above the booths, blinking furiously, like angry eyes. But the woman’s voice rang out once more.
“Bidding has not started yet, we are still in the viewing phase,” she said in that modulated tone. “Please refrain from bidding until the final part of our auction. Article Twenty-One,” she continued. “Please continue to disrobe.”
I almost rebelled. I’d throw their auction right off the rails, give them something to remember the “Girl in Gold” by. I’d show them how a girl with sass and spunk behaved, even in captivity. But common sense took over. If I didn’t get sold, I’d have to stay with Miles and he’d pull no punches this time around. I’d be battered, assaulted, all sorts of terrible things once there were no prospective buyers to protect my lily white skin.
So slowly, I wriggled my hips a bit, tugging the golden fabric down. Inch after inch of creamy white flesh was exposed, my tummy, my belly button, and then lower until I’d pulled the dress over my hips entirely, letting the fabric pool on the floor. And then I stood up, clad only in the tiniest pair of black lace panties, a g-string I’d bought specifically for the trip, feeling warm and tingly when I made the sensuous purchase.
But now, it was coming back to bite me because I knew how I looked in the tiny piece of lingerie. The fabric was so sheer you could see the small landing strip on my vulva, trim and beautiful. And oh god, but the lacy mesh caressed my labia, outlined by the black fabric, my nether lips swollen and engorged, dripping slightly.
Becau
se I was aroused. Despite my fear and hesitation, despite the fact that I was stripping in front of a dozen anonymous men, my body was reacting, illicitly showing its need. My nipples stiffened even more, this time begging to be touched, and my cunt moistened embarrassingly, loving the thought of male eyes on every part of my skin, every inch of my curves.
But this was still an auction, and the woman’s voice rang out once more.
“Turn,” the dulcet tone rang out. “Turn to your left and then to your right.”
And like a priceless museum piece, I obeyed, slowly rotating in my golden heels so that the men on the right could see my luscious assets, get a good view, before turning to the left, showing the entire audience what I had to offer. And it was a delectable sight, I know. My girls jiggled and bobbled, my cunt warm with a slight drip, and involuntarily, I began playing it up, sashaying my hips, swaying sensuously, making the audience want me. I guess it was my own way of owning the ritual, this humiliating process. I wanted them to want me, I wanted these men to bid so high that their wallets bled. I wanted them to go crazy, to look at me like I was the answer to their dreams. It was an exchange of power, and I was going to end up on top.
And sure enough, the lights above the booths flashed crazily again, blinking like ambulance sirens, at least five or six of them going off with desperation. The woman’s voice came on again.
“We have not yet finished the viewing phase, please hold your bids,” she said, almost like an airline announcing that a flight would be delayed for two hours. I squinted a bit at the flashing lights, wondering who could possibly be viewing me, but suddenly, I had an answer. A door opened in one of the viewing chambers, letting in a crack of light and I could just make out the man inside.
I gasped. Did he know that the one-way mirrors only worked if there was total darkness on his side? Did he know that I could make out strong features, dark, dominating, oh so masculine? Or was he purposefully giving up his anonymity? I waited for the female voice to come on again, or at least a handler to rush over, informing the bidder that we could see him, but nothing happened. Instead, I was caught by a pair of deep blue eyes, their gleam unmistakable, as the solitary man gazed at my curves, drinking in my luscious form.
Trembling like a leaf, I stood before him, unsure what to do next. Suddenly it was as if the world had narrowed to just me and him, there was no creepy female voice, no handlers on either side of me. It was just me, taking it off for the gorgeous man inside and I grew warm and moist once more, my body blooming under his scorching gaze, opening like a petal to the sun.
But it was my imagination. Of course the handlers were still there, of course this auction was being monitored by dozens of people, this was no amateur event thrown together on a whim. The woman’s voice came on once more.
“And now we will be viewing Article Twenty-One’s virginity. Handlers, please remove the remainder of the girl’s clothing.”
The two black-clad men stepped forward once more but I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t stand to have these criminals touch me, didn’t want to feel their dirty paws on my body. So I did the only thing left. Slowly, I slid my panties down my hips, undulating to the left and then to the right, pulling the flimsy piece of lace down, down, down until my pussy was revealed, my beautiful slit glistening and moist under the harsh spotlight, dragging the material over my thighs until I was able to kick them off. And then I stood once more, chin lifted, determined not to show my fear. Because I was beautiful, wearing nothing but the golden heels, huge breasts swaying, hips sensuous, all leading to the vee between my legs, the sweet snapshot of pink that beckoned to the bidders.
And I shot a glance at the man once more. A sliver of light still penetrated his booth, and I could make out the way his blue eyes ate everything up, how he was devouring every inch of creamy skin, dark streaks across his cheekbones, face tight. And a tingle coursed through me, my pussy moistening again, a small gush between my thighs. If I focused on him, blocking out all else, I could pretend that I was here with him alone, that it was just the two of us, in our own little world.
And keeping that in mind, I twirled slowly, doing a three sixty, giving a generous eyeful of my assets, raising my hands to run them through my brunette curls, opening my mouth slightly as if in lust. And it worked. The little parade made me feel better, the man’s look becoming sharper in the booth, more calculating, taking in everything. With a slow gesture, he made a circular motion with his hand, indicating what he wanted. Helpless before him, I twirled once more, turning until my back was to him and bent over, spreading my legs. Oh god, oh god. Was I really doing this? He wanted a look at my cunt and I was giving it to him, my moist channel on display, my labia pulsing, beating with the dirtiness of it all.
And the announcer’s voice came on once again.
“As promised, we will be inspecting the virgin’s hymen. Article Twenty-One, hold yourself open, please.” Again, I was astounded by her tone of voice. She could have been saying, “Can I offer you a napkin?” her voice was so mild despite the illicit words, despite the fact she was literally telling another woman to part her pussy for a dozen men to see.
But what choice did I have? If I refused, it would just be back to the handlers, they’d probably part my cheeks like I was a cow to be inseminated and the whole scenario made me cringe, heart curdling. So I did as commanded. Stroking my hands up and down my calves, I caressed them sensuously, making sure the man’s eyes were locked on my body. Then I ran my palms up over my thick thighs, squeezing them, the luscious ham hocks heavy and firm, before running each of my small hands up to my ass, caressing the pale peachy orbs, even lifting my hips and bumping up and down a bit so that my cheeks jiggled and wiggled entrancingly.
But the main course was coming. With a butt cheek in each hand, I slowly pulled them apart, my steaming slit coming into view, the beautiful pinkness that belonged to me alone. And oh fuck, while I was doing it, I went all the way. I leaned over more, making sure my ass was high in the air, and showed them my taboo hole then. Oh yeah, my gorgeous brown pucker winked and flashed under the spotlight, flirting with the buyers, a perfect counterpoint to the pink wetness that dripped below, my swollen labia engorged and pulsing with desire.
But the men couldn’t see the evidence of my virginity just yet, so the female voice came on again.
“Article Twenty-One, please hold your labia open. Cameras,” she directed. “Prepare to zoom.”
And I gasped, head still between my knees. Oh my god, they wanted to look up into my channel, deep into the hot pink for a glimpse of my hymen? To see that part of me that was still intact, where no man had touched? And they were going to zoom in, let everyone see up close and personal? Oh my god, oh my god.
But the naughtiness titillated me because it was so dirty and sensuous at once. I’d played with myself a few times, always stopping when I reached the barrier, the spongy tissue that proved I was untouched, untaken. And so taking a deep breath, I let go of my orbs and let my small hands creep between my thighs, slowly caressing my plush pussy lips, letting them watch as I massaged my cunt. Mmm, it felt good, my nub was tingling, my clit so big and stiff that I was sure they could see it, all two inches poking out, waving in the air.
And for emphasis, I gave it a stiff pinch, making myself gasp, cunt gushing wetly at the illicit touch. Oh god, what would it be like to feel a man’s hand there, feel a pair of strong, masculine fingers running through my soft folds? I pretended it was the dark man in the booth touching me, making me come with need. How his hands would slip knowingly between my thighs, probing my small hole, touching where no one had touched before, prepping me for his cock.
And moaning, I closed my eyes, preparing for the grand finale. Because with a slow moan, I did it. Small fingers pushed my labia to each side so that I was holding myself open, so that each man could see right up my cunt, glimpse the hot pink walls, drenched and steaming, the female juice that coated my privates. And oh fuck, oh fuck, but I knew what the camera was doi
ng at that very moment. It was zooming in on my ass, on my pussy, going in for the deep dive. I stood stock still, feeling the caress of a dozen pairs of eyes, feeling the electronic lens home in on the part of me that proved my virginity, that showed I was untouched, ready for my first man. Because yes, my hymen was there for these men to see, for these men to taste, lick, touch, and finally penetrate if they bought me.
And at that moment, I glanced through my legs and met the eyes of the dark man. He was staring at me hard, gaze fixed on my pussy before jerking to a monitor in front of him and I realized that each booth must have been equipped with its own flatscreen so that the user could view me from multiple angles, up, down, below, and now inside. He stared, transfixed, as the camera sharpened and focused and suddenly the lights of every single booth flashed brightly. They must have caught my hymen on screen, the men must have seen my virginity, the proof that I was untouched.
And the bidding flew into a frenzy then.
“I hear one hundred thousand,” chimed the woman’s voice. “Is there anyone for two?”
I gasped. One hundred thousand? The redhead had gone for fifty and already my bidding was at one hundred? How was I double her price? But I guess that was the going price for virgins and flushing hotly, I bit my lip, getting ready to stand. But the woman’s voice rang out again.